


Fuck The Police

by Ajaxthegreat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: .....At First, Explicit Sexual Content, Gun Violence, Lovers to Enemies to Begrudging Respect to Sort of Friends to Lovers, M/M, Questionable Sexual Motives, Safe Robbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16850080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ajaxthegreat/pseuds/Ajaxthegreat
Summary: Special Agent Erwin Smith and a world class thief known as The Corporal walk into a bar.or, Levi takes the title of the song a little too to heart, with rather dire consequences.





	Fuck The Police

**Author's Note:**

> the namesake of this fic and the song that plays is this one: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c5fts7bj-so

**LEVI**

 

Ten minutes.

One to pick the lock on the back door, one to disable the security and get down to the basement level, one more to break into the room with the safe, and two to get back out again.

That left five minutes with the safe.

Levi’s kneeling in front of it in silence, running his hand over the metal when Petra starts her watch.

“Five minutes and counting, Boss.”

Levi goes to work.

Two minutes pass and he hears nothing. His fingers are numb, the electronic stethoscope is buzzing in his ear, and he can feel the vibrations through the floor every time Petra taps her foot.

Finally, after far too long, there’s the long, beautiful, ringing sound of a tumbler falling.

“Drop seven,” Levi murmurs, and just under his right ear where the comm sits Gunther’s voice says, “Seven, got it.”

Levi spins the dial in the other direction almost recklessly fast, slows and after two more revolutions finds the next one.

“Drop five.”

Gunther says something else but Levi is concentrating now. He has to determine in the next rotation if the combination has three or four numbers. Based on the model, it’s a toss-up.

“Drop three – no. It’s four.”

A muffled _are you sure_ filters past his ears but he’s not paying attention. His ears are ringing, heart pounding, they’re _inches_ from getting caught but his hands are steady. Always. Truthfully, he loves this.

He turns the dial again, but it’s not as easy as the movies make it look and it takes longer than he’d like to find the next number in the combination. He wishes he had his drill, but it’s too loud for this job.

“Drop two,” he says softly, and Petra cocks her gun.

Levi freezes.

“Problem?” he asks lightly. She knows how much he hates it when she takes out her gun.

“They’re on their way,” she says softly, breathing fast. “We don’t have time. I can maybe buy you –” she checks the magazine on her gun and Levi lets out a long breath through his teeth – “thirty extra seconds.”

Levi’s already ahead, abandoning the combination – five numbers, if his instinct on the sound of the tumblers is to be believed – and running his hands around the edges of the safe. It’s barely bigger than a breadbox.

Petra takes a deep breath and says, “It’s been good, Boss,” and goes to kick open the door.

“Petra.”

She freezes. Levi stands, hooks his fingers under the safe, and picks up the entire thing.

“No need for theatrics. Let’s go.”

Petra grins so wide it hurts Levi’s eyes to look at, as if she hadn’t just been prepared to shoot her way to 30 extra seconds, and then the two of them are slipping out the back just as the guards come in.

Levi hefts the safe into the car – idling, with Eren sitting behind the wheel listening to Pusha T – and climbs into the backseat. Petra climbs in after him.

The shotgun seat is empty.

“Where’s Gunther?” Levi asks sharply, shifting the safe against the window to give himself more room. Eren’s eyes are on it in the rearview.

“Dude, Boss, aren’t those things like, four hundred pounds?”

“ _Where_ –”

The passenger door opens and Gunther crams himself in, sporting a black eye.

“What happened to you?” The car’s still idling. Any second now, the alarms are going to trip. Levi taps his fingers against the safe. They need to _go_.

“Meeks had to start a fight to cover our exit,” Gunther said. “She punched me first. Apparently no one else would fight her.”

Eren laughs, and Levi bites his nails.

45 seconds.

Petra takes her gun out again and shrugs when Levi glares at her. She levels it out the window and Gunther does the same. This is _not_ the sort of place Levi feels good about shooting up, and he shifts uncomfortably. Front though it is, people _work_ here; people who aren’t involved. Eren reaches forward and turns up the radio.

30 seconds.

A thud sounds through the frame of the car when someone lands on top of it, and then Mikasa is sliding through the open window and sitting on top of the safe, scrunched up against the roof of the car. She looks up, then down at the safe, then at Levi.

15 seconds.

The alarm trips. Mikasa raises her eyebrows at the safe.

Levi glances at it and says, “Change of plans.”

Mikasa hands him a very bloody knife and says, “Yeah, me too.”

10 seconds. Eren’s hands are tapping on the wheel, in time to the music but with an extra tic on the upbeats: he’s nervous.

“Anyone dead?” Levi asks, pocketing the knife. Mikasa shakes her head.

Levi nods at her and says to Eren in the front seat, “Punch it, kid.”

They peel out with 7 seconds to spare and the emergency gate closes behind them when they leave. Eren’s driving is maniacal; reckless and insane just like the kid himself, and it works brilliantly. For about two minutes, Levi thinks they’re in the clear. Then Hanji comes over the comm system: “Boss, I got news.”

Levi grunts into the comm. Behind them, three black town cars skid into view, gaining fast.

Levi says, “Is the news that we’re being tailed by three cars of foot soldiers from the mob?”

“You got it.”

He hates this car. It’s so cramped, he can’t _move_ in here.

“Petra,” he barks, and Petra hands him a crow bar.

“Eren, keep it steady for two minutes.”

Then he’s rolling down the window and leaning half his body out of it, and someone in the car makes a confused noise but it’s nearly impossible to hear with the way the wind is whipping past his ears, they must be doing at least 80 mph, and Levi barely thinks about it when he hefts the crow bar and throws it like a javelin.

It hits its target dead-on: the middle town car, right through the chest of the driver. The man doesn’t even dodge, just sits there while the thing sails through the windshield and sinks into his chest. Levi almost grins.

The car swerves predictably, straight into the one to its left, and both cars go skidding off the road in a screaming blur of metal and melted tires. Levi ducks back into the car.

“Eren, slow down.”

Eren does a double take. “ _Slow?"_

Levi nods. “Let em catch up.”

The car slows just a little, and Levi nods at Mikasa on the other side of the backseat. She looks at him for a moment and then rolls her window down, sliding off the top of the safe and wedging herself against the back of the driver’s seat.

It takes about 15 seconds for the last town car to catch up to them and when it does Levi’s crew is face to face with four ugly mob foot soldiers, staring down the collective barrels of four ugly mob guns, all pointed straight at them.

Mikasa says, “Cover your ears,” then cocks a pistol and shoots the driver of the town car in the head.

The car swerves immediately, nearly straight into them, but Eren dodges right at the last _possible_ moment and they skid into an alley. The town car crashes into the brick of a building directly behind them.

“Who thought it was a good idea to rob the _fucking_ mafia?” Gunther says from the shotgun seat before assuring a frantically yelling Hanji that yes, they were all fine and yes, the gunshots and crashing was all directed elsewhere.

“Alright, so,” Hanji says, voice back to business, “Cops are on 14th and B, they’ve got at least ten vehicles, Eren, take a left ... _now_.”

Eren does, skids the car sideways for nearly 50 feet before it straightens back out again, and Levi switches places with Petra as soon as they’re straight.

She wordlessly hands him her gun as he takes out his own and then points them out the window, one in each hand.

Eren does a triple take over his shoulder as he crashes down a small set of steps and onto another street, then says, “Boss, you _hate_ guns.”

“Just drive, kid.”

“But can you even –”

Levi cocks both guns at once. “ _Drive_.”

The cops are waiting for them at 14th just like Hanji said. They’ve even got a spike strip down. Levi says, “Eren, take a hard right to a stop on my count.”

Eren doesn’t question him, just nods and grips the wheel. Levi wedges his knee into the space between the cushions and leans his back against Petra: it’s as sturdy a shooting spot as he’s going to get.

The music in the car switches tracks and N.W.A’s _Fuck Tha Police_ blares through the speakers. Levi grins.

The speedometer inches up toward 140 and Eren isn’t even sweating, just watching for Levi’s signal with both hands on the wheel, and the whole team seems far too relaxed and _they shouldn’t trust him this much_ and the line of police is getting too close, too fast –

“Now.”

_Fuck the police comin’ straight from the underground -_

The car skids, pulls violently to the side and slams to a stop with Levi’s side of the car facing the police and both Levi’s guns still out the window.

He fires fourteen shots before anyone else does, one in each tire of seven cars. Gunther pulls a shotgun out from under the seat and Levi snaps, “ _No_ ,” violently through his teeth. “We’re not killing any cops.” They don’t need the extra heat and Gunther knows it.

Gunther rolls his eyes, ducks a bullet, and takes out a tear gas grenade.

“Better,” Levi says as he ducks behind the door of the car to avoid a hail of bullets. Petra squeaks and flattens herself out against the seats, and Mikasa is already on the floor of the car.

Levi shoots all the tires out of the cars, then shoots the dashboards of the few that are parked at the right angles. Gunther throws the grenade and a cloud of red smoke erupts between them and the police.

“Eren, go,” Levi says, leaning back against the seat and then looking everyone over. Eren peels out and swerves into an alley and up another side street. It’s a tight fit, the side mirrors flying off when they squeeze through a particularly small alleyway. Levi itches for his bike - he _really_ hates this car - but the job had needed all of them.

“Everyone okay?”

Gunther and Eren high five prematurely in the front seat and Levi rolls his eyes.

Mikasa groans and Levi’s chest seizes with fear, but then she sits up and says, “The safe hit me in the head.”

He snorts.

Petra’s straightening and taking her gun out of Levi’s hand as she says, “Just fine, Boss.”

When the cops finally have time to regroup, Levi and his crew have already changed cars. They slip in with the morning traffic and watch siren after siren pass by them, grinning to each other.

The safehouse is more of a warehouse, small but nice in its own way, tucked into the middle of the South Side and advertising a maid service that no one ever calls. Eren pulls them up and it takes him, Gunther, _and_ Hanji from inside to carry the safe into the house.

They put the safe on the table, away from Hanji’s computers, and all five of them turn to Levi.

Petra gestures to the safe and raises her eyebrows. Levi shrugs off his jacket.

“Somebody get me my drill.”

 

**ERWIN**

 

Erwin thinks maybe, just this one time, he can leave his badge at the door.

It’s been a long week, they’re still no closer to catching their guy - a _ghost_ , honestly - and he’s closer to his wits end than he would care to admit. He’d pulled a lot of resources chasing down a lead that had ended up going nowhere, and they still have yet to even get a _photograph_ of the guy.

Erwin’s starting to doubt that the Corporal even exists at all. Perhaps it is just a bedtime story, like some of his more teasing coworkers have insisted.

Something as outlandish as a _handpicked team of world class thieves_ was, at the beginning and even for Erwin, a bit of a stretch. But then the Corporal and his team had taken out six rival gangs in one day, and immediately gone and knocked over a museum and stolen nothing but a paperweight. They’d left a note that read _System needs updating!_ right on top of the control panel of the security system, and Erwin had realized he wasn’t dealing with people grounded anywhere near the real world.

Now, looking around the bar at the half dozen other exhausted agents guzzling as much beer as they can get their hands on, Erwin has to admit to himself that he’s perhaps started to get a bit … obsessed with the Corporal case. He feels a stab of guilt, seeing Mike and Nile with their heads in their hands on the bar, too tired to even drink. He’s been working his people too hard.

Not to mention himself. Erwin can’t remember the last time he put something in his mouth besides coffee.

And after 72 straight hours without sleep following a dead-end lead Erwin just wants - well, he wants -

He wants to get laid.

“Is this seat taken?”

Erwin looks up, pulled by a low, even, magnetic sort of voice that warms his chest. The man attached to it is far smaller and _infinitely_ better looking than expected.

“Please,” Erwin says, gesturing to the seat, and he means it. The corner of the man’s mouth turns up and there’s something so sly and secret in it that Erwin feels the sudden desire to tug at his own collar.

The man flags down the bartender and makes some sort of wordless gesture before turning to Erwin and looking him full in the face.

“Levi,” he says, voice still hair-raisingly attractive. The bartender sets a glass of whiskey next to him and leaves, and Levi reaches over and takes a sip without taking his eyes off Erwin.

It’s been a _long_ time, since before he took this infernal case, and Erwin feels himself fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. Even federal agents can get jitters sometimes, after all.

Plus, with the voice (incredible) and the eyes ( _mercury_ ) and the expression (quiet, dangerous), well. Erwin almost does squirm in his seat. It’s a near thing, and he fiddles with the label on his beer bottle instead. He cannot take his eyes off the man.

Levi.

“Erwin Smith,” he says, and holds out a hand. Levi takes it without smiling, without speaking, as if they’re conducting a business transaction. His hands are small, cool and calloused. Competent in a way Erwin finds difficult to place.  

He feels strangely off-balance, as if he’s had the upper hand stolen right out from under him, but Levi hasn’t said more than five words to him and he figures it’s just - nerves. It’s been a long time since Erwin’s even been in the room with magnetism like this, much less had it directed at him.

The bar feels suddenly very quiet and very dark, intimate where a few minutes ago it had been an unbearable din. Levi leans forward, another tiny half smile gracing his sharp, perfect face.

“What do you do, Erwin Smith?”

His voice is so low that Erwin finds himself leaning forward as well, if only to hear him properly. He wonders if that’s on purpose, but if it is, it’s working. Levi smells like soap and whiskey and something strange and sharp, like ink. Erwin is helplessly reeled in.

Erwin waves a hand, grinning. “I’m in law enforcement.”

Levi’s mouth curls again, both sides this time. It’s so slow and deliberate that it looks _devious_ on his face. His eyes flicker down to Erwin’s toes and then back up, appraising. Erwin flushes down the back of his neck.

“FBI?”

Erwin raises his eyebrows.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, voice pitched soft and curious. Levi takes another sip of his drink without looking away from his face.

“Shoes,” he says shortly, then leans back in his seat. Erwin waits for him to offer more, but he doesn’t.

“Shoes?”

Levi nods, licks his lips and says, “Shoes are clean, so. Not a section detective. It’s been raining for days, you’d have mud on them. You work from your office, mostly. You’re too tired to be top brass, your eyes look like you’re two seconds from passing out on the bar. Too pretty to be a bureaucrat…” he trails off, as if he’d intended to explain that one further but got distracted. His eyes are warm on Erwin’s chest, his shoulders, then back up to his eyes as he speaks again. “Your face says you’re too smart to be a paper pusher, and your suit's too nice for a beat cop.” He grins that tiny, secret half-smile again and says so softly Erwin almost can’t hear, “So. FBI.”

Erwin smiles so widely he thinks his face will split in two. “Special Agent Smith, at your service.”

“I hope so,” Levi murmurs, so quietly Erwin almost isn’t sure he said it. A bit louder and before Erwin has the time to flush, he says, “You got a badge and everything?”

Erwin nods, beer and those _fucking_ eyes going straight to his head.

“Can I see it?”

“It’s, ah, it’s at home.”

Levi leans forward further. There’s something so sharp about him, something so dangerous that Erwin feels a split second instinct to back away before he slams back into the moment with a strange, inexplicable, dizzy rush of adrenaline.

“Shame,” Levi says, soft without a hint of gentleness. “I wonder how we’d ever end up there.”

There’s no gentleness anywhere in him, Erwin realizes. He’d mistaken his quiet deliberateness for it at first, but no. This is - this is something else.

Erwin is dizzy and exhausted and approaching desperately aroused very quickly, but he still manages to raise an eyebrow. “Forward of you,” he comments.

“You disapprove?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you didn’t.” Levi leans one arm on the bar and Erwin can just see the edge of a brilliantly colored tattoo disappearing under his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His eyes sharpen when he sees Erwin notice it.

“You didn’t tell me what you do,” Erwin says, smiling again. Levi doesn’t smile in response, and a shock of something uncomfortably close to disappointment twists Erwin’s stomach. He wants, more than he has in months, in _years_ , to please him.

He feels so off balance he’s surprised he’s still in his chair.

“I didn’t?” The tiniest flicker of a smile.

Erwin feels his mouth twitch again, shakes his head.

“You’re not going to guess? Agent?”

“ _Special_ Agent,” Erwin corrects, already biting his lip. Anticipation curls in his stomach, warm and excited.

Levi gestures, holds his hands out with his palms up and says, “Read me.”

_Fuck, I want to_ , he thinks, flushing again. Levi’s hair is so dark, pushed back out of his face and curling just a bit under his ear, soft like a spilled oil slick. His eyes are impossible in the light of the bar. _The things I would -_

“You don’t look like you’re thinking about what I do,” Levi murmurs. God, his voice is so soft, so dark, Erwin feels like he could drown in it.   

“I’m not,” Erwin says before he can stop himself. Levi grins again, small and slow and secret. Erwin clears his throat and tries again, focusing on getting a read on him.

He’s astoundingly good at this, generally. He once identified a bomber in a crowded stadium from his shoelaces. 

So he’s confident, looking at Levi. Until he realizes -

He’s got nothing. Not a single thing.

Levi - with his beautiful voice and his sharp, brilliant eyes and his painfully dexterous-looking hands - is utterly impossible to read. Erwin has absolutely no idea who he is.

It frightens him, but it also fascinates him.

The longer Erwin stares, silent, the sharper Levi’s expression gets. His mouth curls just the tiniest bit, but Erwin gets the distinct impression that he’s beaming.

“Well?”

Erwin leans forward with both elbows on his knees, unabashedly right into Levi’s space. He shakes his head, smiling. “Nothing.”

Levi finishes his drink. “Not very good at your job, are you?”

Erwin bristles for the first time all night, and Levi’s eyes flicker down to where Erwin’s hand is tightening on the neck of his beer bottle. He smiles at Erwin’s white knuckles, and Erwin wants to slap it off his mouth.

_Oh_.

He has to sit back at the thought, leans heavily against the back of his chair and reaches for his beer.

Levi leans forward as Erwin drains his bottle and says in a dark, deceptively soft voice, “Are you going to take me home, or not?”

“I don’t know you.”

Levi shrugs. “And?”

Erwin laughs, shaking his head. “And … I don’t…”

“You don’t usually _do this_.”

His tone is almost dismissive and Erwin holds up a hand. “I don’t ever, actually.”

Levi’s expression is far too sly. “But you will, just this once.” He leans forward and they’re so close, Erwin can smell his soap and laundry detergent and that strange, warm ink smell. “For me,” Levi says.

_Just this once_ , Erwin thinks, breathing in the warmth of him. Levi turns to the bartender and lays a bill on the bartop, and Erwin gets a look at the long, almost painfully graceful line of his neck. He clenches his hands into fists at the sight of it.

Levi turns back to him and opens his mouth, smiling his half smile, and touches the tip of his tongue to his teeth.

Erwin’s already standing when he says, “I live a block away.”

 

When he wakes, it is to a dry mouth, a lot of scratches on his back, and an empty bed.

The night comes back to him slowly, through the thick filter of alcohol and sleep. He remembers the bar, and then Levi: clever, quick fingers and searing eyes and hazily recollected flashes of brilliant tattoos, a voice that made his toes curl, startlingly strong forearms -

He remembers taking him upstairs, and he remembers strange flashes of heat and sensory overload: Levi’s teeth on his neck, Levi’s nails on his back, wet gasps and his own voice saying Levi’s name and _god_ , so much skin -

It was good, exceptionally good, and he feels a pang when he realizes Levi hasn’t even left him a note.

Not that he’d expected Levi to stay, but there’s something …. off that Erwin can’t place. Everything had been so - strangely intense between them, so immediately intimate, and then Levi had left so abruptly -

Something itches at the back of Erwin’s mind, something he usually categorizes as suspicion, and he isn’t sure why until he looks at his bedside table and sees that it’s slightly off in the careful placement of its drawers.

Like someone had searched it.

Erwin shoots up in bed, hair a riot, sixth sense prickling. Then he runs to the safe in his living room where he keeps all his case files.

He isn’t, strictly speaking, supposed to take case files home, but it’s _Erwin_ , so Pixis allows it. It helps him think, and he always returns them, and it’s not like anyone would ever steal -

Erwin wrenches the safe open and gapes at the empty spot where his file on the Corporal used to be.

_Son of a bitch_.

**Author's Note:**

> i skipped over the explicit sex THIS TIME, because narratively it made more sense, but do not fear i will never skip it again as long as i live


End file.
